


Midnight's Kiss

by Lawfuless



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Magic, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lawfuless/pseuds/Lawfuless
Summary: His breath caught in his lungs- breathing was such an experience- and he staggered forwards as he pushed his legs to work right.Had to go, had to run, from what? He wasn't sure.His feet tangled, he tripped, smashing into the dirt. He glanced back to find the rope that caught his leg. A jolt of panic.'They've found me.'
Kudos: 2





	Midnight's Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, as per usual. Just wanted to get back into the swing of things. Might even finish a few of the old ones.  
> Reading back in the original comics, apparently Dr. Fate professes himself at one time to not be human, never having been human. So I stuck with that idea.

Kent Nelson was not a man.

This should be noted first and foremost, because it is important to remember that he was created. It meant that the same laws could not protect him as they did the other heroes. There were some, of course, that might have worked. Certain provisions that could be stretched to cover him, but only as long as he played along with being human, with being normal. And he couldn't do that. He was Doctor Fate. Being 'normal' meant the world was at risk.

It meant that when the committee came forth for their identities, Kent was forced into an awkward situation. He hadn't any ID that would work, hadn't had the need. He had his doctorate, sure, but anything could be forged. So he had to pull a vanishing act when the time came for him. Because there was no way he could piece together some form of identity, or explain the truth, because any saving grace would shatter under the truth.

Of course the others felt betrayed. He couldn't stand by them when they needed him, so when else was he going to flake? But they gave him the benefit of doubt. Let him stay. It was this mistake that would cost him.

* * *

_His breath caught in his lungs- breathing was such an experience- and he staggered forwards as he pushed his legs to work right._

_Had to go, had to run, from what? He wasn't sure._

_His feet tangled, he tripped, smashing into the dirt. He glanced back to find the rope that caught his limb. A jolt of panic._

_'They've found me.'_

He snapped awake in the cold white room that had become his home. At the blank walls, with those groggy blues. It took some focusing to remember it all. A gaunt hand ran through greasy, ragged locks of dirtied gold. Those blues were sunken from the time spent in this monotone hellscape. He almost didn't look up as the door opened for guards. He didn't remember going to sleep, but he also only really recalled getting back to his room because the new guard 78374 had bumped Nelson's head on the door when bringing the comatose magi in.

The emaciated figure backed himself into the corner, eyes fearful but dulled. Not that it mattered to the guards. He wasn't human, after all. He bruised from their rough hands and jostling. They'd drawn too much blood, but they wouldn't let him tap into his magic to heal himself. Anemia wasn't in his file originally going in, but he knew they had scratched it in those chicken-scratch characters.

Dragged down the hall, his only hope that it would be quicker this time, Kent didn't bother trying to walk anymore. His legs were weak, and they had been worse ever since he had busted Guard 28973's nose, and the guards had gone after him, kicking and beating. His knee still didn't quite bend right, and he wobbled more than walked.

_Hands grabbed him, nails digging in. Blood welled to the surface as he struggled, hoarse voice choking on apologies but silenced with a punch._

_He dropped as a fist met his solar plexus, and breathing was so hard, tears streaked his cheeks. Boots met his already sore midsection and with a crunch, he felt his ribs give in, felt the way the bone fractured._

_His coherence lasted for when one jumped on his leg under it shattered, until bone was visible and there was a growing puddle of blood, and only then did they take in their pale prey, like a clipped-winged moth in it's death throws._

_Head cracked against the floor as they lifted him and he went limper than he had been. Damage was bad, and the medical wing had bitched a storm as he lay in bed for days, breathing through tubes and crying through the pain because medication would muddle the results._

His form was jerked into a chair and he smacked his knee against the table. He didn't cry out, or scream, much as his body begged for it, he just sharply inhaled as the pain blossomed like an ugly red flower that grew from broken things. He wanted to sob, but the tears wouldn't come. Not anymore. So he choked down the agony, staring at the table as he waited for the doctor to come around to see him.

"Good Morning, Subject two-eighty-eight." He was fairly certain it wasn't morning, but he didn't question the man, murmuring something of a greeting. He wasn't a person, though, so they didn't really expect him to answer. "Are we ready for today?" Again, he murmured something like agreement, though it didn't matter. They did this every time.

"Recording start. It is morning session fifty-two, and we begin again with subject two-eighty-eight. Subject is of unknown race and origin, posing as a human male with mystical capabilities. Said magic is currently being siphoned from the subject to keep it docile. We begin with our first test. Cognitive." They brought out the rubiks cube first, this time. He remembered he had been insulted that they had started with the coloured shapes in specific holes, but now he sort of wish he hadn't.

From solving the cube- being timed down to the second and if he did worse than he had before, up to five milliseconds, he had to undergo a full examination-, it was onto Sudoku, then algebra, going up to increasingly complex tests that he never knew if he did right on. They never told him, just explained after that he had failed and that he was to undergo psychiatric evaluation and further tests. More akin to torture: he was left in deprivation tanks, he was forced to play 'games' where the failure was a zap, he had to do activities that they did things to impede him until he couldn't do it anymore. Beatings were common at those times.

Today, his fingers slipped, costing him a second. He quaked as he stared at the digital watch, listened to the doctor list the numbers before getting up and leaving out the back door. He was retrieved from a separate one to where he had entered and the doctor had exited, dragged through a series of winding corridors to the medical facilities. Into the empty room in the back, where they cut the clothes from his back and water-proofed the ever-present collar that sapped him. Kent shivered nude, as the guards left. The hose began, knocking him back into the wall and to the floor. The force left a welt, and red skin trailed where the water went.

He didn't often speak, rarely screamed, but he always shrieked under the water's forceful frisking. He might had cried amongst the water, but it was all washed away either way.

Dragged from his safety ball once the water stopped, put on display for the doctors, and kept in place with metal bands to secure him. He struggled to breathe, struggled not to cry. The cold air was almost painful, but it wasn't as bad as the poking. Prodding. Pens, pencils, fingers and fingernails clad in latex and coldly medical. They searched every bit of him, went places that did make him struggle and cry out even if it was meek and even if that meant they would gag him.

If he had more tears to shed, he would have cried them.

Once more, Nelson was released and carried from the room. Forced into new clothes and sat down for his psyche evaluation. More mental training, more mental games. It was too much for one day, far too much, and he was quickly non-responsive. After losing the battle to get him back, they simply dumped him off in his room. They rarely fed him, which made today a rare day when he did get something. Soup and a cup of water. Nothing rich or special. The bare minimums. Rarely solids, since he barely held anything down anyways.

Staring at the bowl, even though his stomach ached, he turned slowly to face away, reality drifting to welcoming darkness. He remembered dreams of gold... Of flying. Of friends. Being treated like a person, eating when he wanted, the simple things. But all of it was faded, old. The days had ticked away until they were barely a memory, a fleeting thought that kept the hope in his chest, a burning ember he wished would go out... if only so he was spared the pain of it all. He closed his eyes and let sleep take him...

He didn't dream anymore.


End file.
